


Obdiently & Obligingly

by quandary



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Biting, Clothed Sex, Dry Humping, Explicit Sexual Content, F/F, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Post-Time Skip, Praise Kink, anyway a fic wherein ingrid discovers her kink for praise, she wants to be a good girl ok, there is nothing here but smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-08
Updated: 2019-10-08
Packaged: 2020-11-27 22:41:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,158
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20956097
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quandary/pseuds/quandary
Summary: Their dances went something like this: Dorothea would poke and prod all of Ingrid’s buttons, and Ingrid would pretend it wasn’t an effective means of getting a rise out of her. Or, Dorothea would kiss her soft and slow and sweet, and Ingrid would return the gentleness with a hunger that wasn’t half as meek.





	Obdiently & Obligingly

**Author's Note:**

> uhm, ya. not much to say besides this is probably the dirtiest thing i've written and will have ever written for quite some time. praise kink!ingrid is a surprisingly cute idea to me, at least for this pairing. thanks to my buddy nhu for being everlastingly patient and kind with humouring me and my terrible... terribleness. marked as explicit just to be safe.

It was a little after ten when the two of them fell into Ingrid's room, Dorothea giggling at some terrible joke Ingrid just told her. (Truth be told, Dorothea was most likely being polite, for Ingrid was never one for having a sense of humour.)

Dorothea's body radiated warmth, a wonderful contrast to the chilly fall night. Neither of them wanted the night to end--it was a rare moment of peace between battles. A rare moment to pretend, for a while, there was no war. But like all moments, the facade would end. Right now, right here, it didn't have to. Ingrid wanted to draw the moment out for as long as possible. The night threw her room into darkness, and for a while they relished in being only able to touch and feel. Dorothea had her braced against the stone wall, vivid memories of several months ago coming back to her: the way Dorothea pried her legs apart, destroyed her carefully collected composure, were enough to awaken a fervor for more.

For a while, it was just Dorothea's hot mouth on her own, or her shoulder or jaw. The way Dorothea had her lips sucking at the tender skin of Ingrid's neck told her she meant to leave a mark, probably plenty of them. Hopefully plenty of them. To be marked was a gift, at least to Ingrid. A temporary tattoo of who she belonged to, an obscene thrill.

Then, she broke apart from Ingrid, who stood dumbfounded and more than a little breathless. Oh, the way she could so casually do that had heat beginning to pool in Ingrid's belly.

"Let me light the candles," Dorothea stated simply, striding for the desk laying on the left, as if she wasn’t just making out with Ingrid a second ago. She had a tiny ball of fire hovering in her hand, setting the wicks of Ingrid's candles aflame. It was always so unsettling to watch magic being coaxed to life, moreso when it was white magic being used to knit bone and skin back together. But with Dorothea, there was an artistry to it, as there was with most things she did. Bewitching, almost, to stand and watch her, even with something so simple.

"You have a way about you." Ingrid said, crossing over to her side. A smile quirked the corners of Dorothea's mouth as she waved her hand at her side, extinguishing the flame.

"A way about me? Why, do go on, I don't think I quite follow you." Something told Ingrid that she did, that in fact she knew quite well what she meant. But half the fun was the dance, and it did take two.

Their dances went something like this: Dorothea would poke and prod all of Ingrid’s buttons, and Ingrid would pretend it wasn’t an effective means of getting a rise out of her. Or, Dorothea would kiss her soft and slow and sweet, and Ingrid would return the gentleness with a hunger that wasn’t half as meek.

"What I mean to say," Ingrid murmured, placing her hands on Dorothea's hips. "Is that there is a certain grace to the way you move."

“And?” She said, smiling still. Ingrid swore she saw Dorothea flutter her eyelashes in the dim light.

“And, since you wish to be showered in praise,” Ingrid said, with no small amount of humour in her words. “There is a beauty to it that I find particularly entrancing.” It was true--she could watch Dorothea dress, or brush her hair, and want to spin the moment out in amber just to keep it.

“If only all my admirers were as silver-tongued as you, my dear Ingrid.” A small laugh bubbled out of Dorothea, her hand tracing up Ingrid’s chest to rest on her sternum. The other reached up to stroke a cheek. Ingrid made a non-committal noise, too busy inching Dorothea’s body closer to hers to give her a proper response. Dorothea’s hand moved from Ingrid’s cheek, to the back of her neck, bringing her in for a lingering kiss.

“Did I mention you make me tongue-tied, too?” She said when they broke apart. Dorothea made her many things. Mostly she made her ache for her touch.

“This, I already knew.” Dorothea replied, none too subtly leading Ingrid to the bed resting along the wall. “But there are a few things I think _you_ need to know.” Wandering hands moved up Ingrid’s sides, sliding under the hem of her shirt. They paused there, in the space between the band of her breeches and the skin of her stomach, as if taunting with what could be. That was another dance Dorothea loved--to tease Ingrid with maybes and could-have-beens, to bring her to the edge of an abyss only to drag her back again and again.

“I’m sure there are.” Ingrid swallowed, keeping her thoughts to the present. Or, trying to. It was very hard not to imagine what Dorothea could do with those hands of hers, or where she could (should) be putting them. In response, Dorothea bent forward and kissed Ingrid again, biting her bottom lip. Even that small pain was lovely, made sweeter by the way she would kiss it better. Her hands busied themselves with removing Ingrid’s shirt (and, ever obliging, Ingrid raised her arms above her head), tossing the top to the side.

Still so unused to having someone see so much of her, she resisted the urge to cross her arms over her chest. She shivered beneath Dorothea's touch, as her fingers traced the pattern of a scar adorning her left shoulder.

“For instance,” Dorothea said, mouth leaving a searing trail from collarbone to jaw. “Do you know that I love the way you sound when I touch you?” As if to prove a point, she brushed a thumb over a nipple, gave it a tiny pinch, then caressed the edge of where her breast met her chest. Ingrid bit down the moan trying to escape. There was something to be had in denying Dorothea what she wanted, a certain kind of pleasure in resisting again and again.

“Or, how I adore the way you look when I’m done with you?” She continued, wrapping her arms around her waist. Ingrid’s mouth went dry, mind unwilling to work. No smart reply came from her, so she settled for relaxing in Dorothea's arms as she kissed her, long and deep. She was sure if she let go she'd collapse in a boneless heap upon the ground.

Dorothea turned her attention back to her neck, mouth sucking at the spot where her jaw met her jugular. Her tongue swiped over the tender bruise she made. A small noise came out of her then, gasping against Dorothea’s mouth on the pulse of her neck. Her teeth grazed the skin ever so slightly, sending a shiver down her spine. A moan escaped ingrid, wishing--needing--Dorothea to put that mouth elsewhere.

“There it is,” Dorothea murmured. “That’s my good girl. Can you keep doing that for me?” Heat began to build in her core, mounting with every honeyed word dropping off of Dorothea’s lips; enough to drive Ingrid wild with desire.

The tug and pull of giving in was a constant battle. Part of Ingrid felt weak for caving with the other half desperate for release. Needy little noises were the only responses Ingrid found herself capable of, but it seemed enough. Dorothea’s hand wandered down to Ingrid’s crotch, rubbing her through the seat of her breeches in a tortuously slow motion.

“Is this what you want?” Dorothea all but purred. She already knew the answer, but half the fun was getting her to beg for it, they both knew this.

“Please," She managed to say. "Seiros, Dorothea, I--" Ingrid's sentence trailed off into another senseless moan. With her middle finger, Dorothea rubbed the space between her lips from top to bottom. Every time her fingers brushed past her clit, her nerves felt like they were set on fire. When she stopped, Ingrid was left adrift on the waves of her frustration. Caught between secretly relishing the way Dorothea did as she deemed fit and wanting none of the control, and aching for her to finish her off properly.

At last, Dorothea brought them both down on the bed. 

Dorothea's hands upon her hips anchored her in place, a pleasant weight. Ingrid straddled her thigh, Dorothea grinning as she raised her leg just enough to apply a pleasant pressure that had the muscles in her stomach grow tight. 

“Oh, Dorothea.” The sight of Dorothea beneath her stirred something not unlike longing within her. Dorothea was nothing short of beautiful, brown hair fanned out behind her on the pillow. How unfair it was that Ingrid was all but nude, and she still wore that green silk dress, the one that hugged her in all the right places, showcased her breasts so wonderfully.

“Here, like this.” Dorothea said, voice husky. Her hands guided Ingrid, slow and insistent, to rock back and forth. The motion became a steady rhythm, her soft panting filling the room.

“Yes,” Dorothea’s breath became shallow, eyes dark in the dim light, holding Ingrid there in that moment. “Yes, that’s a good girl.” She brushed a hand down the side of Ingrid’s hair. She couldn’t stop the way she leaned into the touch, or shivered in the darkness. Couldn't stop the way she wanted Dorothea's praise, to be told she was good or doing well.

The words brought a thrill racing down her spine, had her press harder, rock faster as she chased that high. A hand at the back of her neck interrupted the flow--much to Ingrid’s annoyance--and scooped her in for a kiss. The way Dorothea smiled into it was smug, told her she must have felt the humid heat between her legs. 

“I didn’t say you could stop.” The smile on Dorothea’s face was nothing short of wicked, and she gave Ingrid's left thigh a light slap. Not hard enough to sting, but hard enough to snap Ingrid back to attention. Obediently, Ingrid picked up the pace again, never one to disappoint, never one to let down Dorothea.

“Just like that, darling,” Dorothea said, sounding more than a little out of breath. The hungry way her eyes slid over Ingrid's body had her breath hitch in her throat. Was it truly enjoyable watching her come undone like this? “you’re doing so well.”

She shuddered, closed her eyes, focused solely on the feel of her sex grinding against Dorothea's thigh. The panties were little else but torture, wonderful and terrible with how it denied her the contact she was desperate for. But she was coming so close now. She teetered on the edge of that black abyss, more than willing to fall head over heels into it. Let it swallow her whole, toss her back up when all was said and done.

“My knight in shining armour,” Dorothea sucked in a stuttering breath, a hand leaving Ingrid’s thigh, wandering up under the hem of her dress. Imagination filled in the blanks with where that hand was going. “Goddess, you’re so good to me.” Dorothea rammed her eyes shut, hips bucking as if on their own accord.

Shame and desire were a terrible cocktail, but goddess if the way she praised her didn't have Ingrid feeling good. Wanting more. Was it bad she liked it? Liked the way Dorothea cooed empty sweet things as if she were a pet? Would it be so bad to be kept like one? Wanting to do good and be good weren't terrible things, but wanting it while she pleasured herself upon Dorothea's leg certainly couldn't be.

“Yes,” Dorothea panted. “Keep going, keep going. You’re doing so well.” Her voice trailed off into a low noise that cracked something open inside of Ingrid. So close, so close. Ingrid was cresting a wave, ready to have her body tossed upon the shore of release. Marveling at the way Dorothea’s body shuddered under hers, heat and pressure continued to build in her core; came to a crescendo when Dorothea gave a choked sigh.

Ingrid came with a cry, all the tension leaving her limbs, leaving her feeling empty. Her heart continued to pound in her ears. 

“My knight in shining armor,” Dorothea whispered again. Ingrid didn't feel like one and was sure she didn't look the part. At least not right then, as sweaty as she was, with her hair tousled too. There was only adoration in Dorothea's eyes, however. 

"Now who has the silver tongue." Ingrid said. Dorothea cupped Ingrid’s cheek briefly before easing her down beside her. She pressed a kiss to Ingrid's forehead, smoothed back stray hairs. Surely they could stay like this awhile, with Ingrid held close to Dorothea. A small comfort for hard times.

She wanted to draw the moment out for as long as possible.


End file.
